


Shattered Stage Lights

by NihilistOpossum



Category: Game Grumps, Ninja Sex Party - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood (not a ton but enough to tag), Cliffhangers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Whump, alternate universe - nsp didn't work out, not a happy ending whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NihilistOpossum/pseuds/NihilistOpossum
Summary: The fame and fortune of Ninja Sex Party was a dream, but unfortunately nothing more. Downhill slides and drawbacks lead the solo singer and his failed persona, Danny Sexbang, into a state of emotional hell. After periods of time at his very worst, his rejected bandmate, Brian, shows up with his own set of issues in tow. As Brian quickly realises that Dan is too far gone, Dan falls farther from the fading limelight.





	Shattered Stage Lights

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who read the original SSL, I apologize. I couldn't keep it up, I unfortunately lost interest and couldn't see myself continuing it as a chaptered fic. However, I really liked the work, and I wanted to preserve it. So I've chosen to slightly edit the content and post it as a stand-alone fic. This time without any relationships and a much harsher ending.
> 
> To anyone who hasn't... I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Hell._

_Hell and back._

_To hell and back again and again._

* * *

Dan watched as the lights dimmed, the only two members of the audience becoming visible as the glare faded. They didn't clap. They didn't smile. They barely acknowledged that he had done anything at all. Instead, they talked amongst themselves, then stood to leave, not even bothering to nod or say a word to him. As they shut the door of the club, Dan sighed, wiping his face with his hand. He was worn out, not just physically, but emotionally. He glanced at the tip jar he had set at the base of the stage, the glass shimmering in the dim light. A quarter, a dime, a moth that had singed itself on the lighting...

And a ten dollar bill.

That he would almost certainly immediately spend on alcohol.

As he undid his cape and moved the mic out of the way, Dan swore. Just once, quietly. No one could hear him but the bartender, and he wouldn't have payed any notice anyway. He was younger than Dan, and they never interacted much except for a few snide remarks on the bartender's end. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the fixtures hanging above the bar and the few illuminating his name, which was plastered on a poster board sign and set haphazardly at the front of the room.

_Danny Sexbang - Ninja Sex Party_

"You need to find somewhere else, kid." The bartender called from his place across the room, the first time he'd spoken to Dan in days. "I can't keep you here if you're not bringin' in anything for the both of us. No customers for me, no cash for you."

Dan knew he was right. The $10.35 he had made that night was the most he'd made in weeks, possibly months. No one cared. No one was coming. His sound and humor were directed at a limited audience, and he wouldn't find it here. But he didn't respond. Instead, Dan picked up his tip jar, then threw it to the ground, money and glass flying across the floor. Shards skittered under tables and chairs, and his single bit of paper money fluttered to the floor.

He didn't bother to retrieve his earnings before he left.

* * *

_Avidan._

It sounded strange on his lips. But so did Sexbang. Neither were him. Neither were real anymore.

The only thing that Dan could say for certain was real was blood. Blood and alcohol. Blood and alcohol and broken dreams.

Those were the only real things.

Dan ran his hand through his hair as he made his way into the alley. The flickering neon sign of the bar and club he had performed at blended with the mist and smog and faint glow of the city surrounding it. He made his way toward the main drag, but stopped halfway there, leaning against the wall. Feeling lost, Dan let himself sink to the gravelly asphalt beneath him, puddles of water at his feet, dampening the ankles of his costume.  _How weird_ , he thought,  _it must be to see a grown man in blue spandex crying into his hands in the dark of an empty alleyway_. But weird was nothing new for him. It hadn't been for years. From lanky stoner to sexual songwriter, nothing about him felt normal.

His songbook.

Dan lifted his head, eyes red and tired. He jolted up and ran back to the bar, slamming open the door, weaving between empty tables and chairs, making his way backstage. As he ran, the bartender called to him again. "If you're back for your cash, I already pocketed it. And you ain't gonna make me give it back."

Dan wouldn't have expected anything else. But that's not why he had returned. The only hopes he had of getting by were written in his songbook. Since he began every show by knocking back beer after beer, he had to keep it close at hand in case he forgot his own lyrics. Though he didn't like to, they were easy enough to fake. Dick this, fuck that, something something about being sexy. Whatever he told himself to take the edge off, he wrote down. Comedy was his only option. Comedy, alcohol, and...

It wasn't there.

"I thought I left it on the stool..." Dan whispered under his breath, pleading to no one but himself that it would be easy to find.

The bartender heard, and decided to respond. "That shitty notebook? I tossed it out earlier. Was it really yours? Damn, was that all you had goin' for ya, kid?" He laughed. "Try getting off on looks alone now. You sing about it so much, I bet you'll do fiiiiine."

Dan snapped his gaze toward him, a look of disgust and annoyance more than one of rage. "Yeah, that's all I had." He shook his head and clutched his cape to his chest, a single tear falling onto it. "And now I don't even have that."

Dan stood on the stage for a while, letting a few more tears fall before wiping them with his cape, the sequins leaving raised red marks across his face. He imagined what the place might look like full. Bright lights, people laughing and drinking, conversing and singing along to his music. He pictured someone in the audience that he hadn't seen for over a year, and he himself wasn't fully sure he even remembered him. He was waving and giving Dan a thumbs up. He was happy, though the plain look on his face would've suggested otherwise. His greying hair and piercing eyes stood out from the joyful younger crowd. He imagined the stage lights flickering, blue and pink and green, all shining on him. He imagined his tip jar, full to the brim and overflowing.

And then it faded, abruptly and without reason. Dan looked quickly at the bartender, who was staring at him curiously, as if Dan were crazy. "I don't have anything!" Dan shouted into the empty room, his emotions echoing around him. He kicked one of the lights at the base of the stage, glass shattering and the bulb breaking. A single shard stuck in his sparkling boots, but he didn't have the energy or motivation to remove it. He paused, then spoke softly, his voice shaking. "I... I don't have anything..."

Dan sat at the edge of the stage, wrapped up in his own tangled emotions. Anger, disappointment, disgust, worthlessness, despondence... Nothing positive would come to him. He got up to leave, hoping to find somewhere, anywhere, to stay. The room boomed as he plodded through it, heavy platform boots hitting against the wood floor. As he pushed open the door and let in a gust of wind, the bartender called to him again.

"Take your sign with you, asshole!"

The sign was placed beside the door, and Dan stared at it a long while before grabbing it. Light blues and whites were splattered across it, and glittery red lettering spelled words that had once meant the world to him.

_Danny Sexbang - Ninja Sex Party_

Dan grabbed the corner of the sign, fidgeting with it, then tucking it under his arm. His cape was draped across his shoulder, soft white trim brushing against his neck. This was all he had left. And he had no use for it.

* * *

Dan trudged down the street, hoping to find an alleyway to take shelter in for the night. He regretted not bargaining with the bartender for his earnings, as any little bit of money would've helped. Instead, he clung only to his cape and sign, shivering in the cold of the night. His costume left his arms exposed, and what did cover him was made of thin material. His breath fogged in the cool of the night, glowing under the lights of streetlamps and neon signs.

As he walked, he thought to himself. He thought about everything he'd wanted to be and how he somehow managed to become the opposite. Music was his place. Dan had thought that since he was young. He thought about why he chose the path he did. It was something he knew. Or at least something he thought he knew. Comedy, sex, and rock and roll. A trio he wanted to embrace. But, no matter how much he put into it, he never got enough back out. And he'd finally hit his breaking point.

Dan paused before turning the next corner, looking up toward the lights of the city and the moon overhead. Smog and fluorescent light blocked the majority of the stars, and everything seemed to glow an uncomfortable shade of golden grey. The city had once been so comforting for him, but wandering the streets alone night after night turned that idea on its head.

A car horn sounded next to him, shocking him out of his hazy state. Dan flinched and turned to see a woman, blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, long eyelashes and generous amounts of lipstick, driving up beside him. Her car was small and cherry red, and she rolled down the window with a smile. Dan turned away as she stepped out, thinking he must've been conjuring up some unknown fantasy of his. He felt as though it had to be a cruel dream his mind was bringing into reality, trying to keep him from giving up more than he already had.

Her heels clicked as she came up beside him, running a finger along Dan's chin. The scent of perfume and cigarette smoke surrounded him, strange and enticing. He shivered, both from the cold and from his new and confused excitement. Her voice was soft and playful. "C'mon, lover boy, I'll get you out of this cold."

Dan pulled away slightly, made uneasy by her words. "Why are you talking to me? What do you want? If it's money, I can assure you, I don't have any, and you've got plenty."

"Oh, honey, you know what I want. I saw your little sign. Don't think I don't know a whore when I see one." She giggled and spun one of his curls around her finger, her breath warming Dan's face as she spoke. "Cute get-up you've got, too. Spandex and sparkles looks great on you, hon. I bet it looks great off you, too."

Dan turned away quickly, yelling as he ran. "I'm not your man whore, you bitch!"

She called after him, huffing in discontent as she stepped back towards her vehicle. "Well you're sure as hell someone's!"

* * *

Dan ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could, trying to get away from the strange woman who assumed him to be a streetwalker. She knew nothing of his pain. How many times he'd wished that someone would try to take him under their wing. But those times had long since passed, and whoever she was, she wanted nothing more than a single night of his company. Dan looked at his reflection in a broken store window. The building was empty and there were no lights, a perfect place to stay the night. He stared at what he had become, appalled by his own appearance. His hair was wild and strands stuck out in every direction. His beard had become scruffy and unkempt. His eyes were tired and red with tears. He looked at his own outfit, the way light danced off of it's glittery surface. He knew why she mistook him for a whore. Any grown man out that late in what he was wearing had to be some sort of sex worker in that part of the city. No other reason made sense. On top of his outfit, he had been dragging around a sign that suggested a line of work he was definitely not interested in. Unwilling to let the same event unfold again, he ripped his sign to shreds, dropping each chunk of poster board into one of the many puddles on the roadside.

Dan had created his persona as a joke. As a way to lift his spirits, lighten the mood, and bring his type of humor to anyone else who would appreciate it. But it seemed as if no one did. He stood before the window for an extended period of time, thinking about the mess he had allowed himself to be for so long. He felt as if, years ago, it would've worked out. If he was in his mid-20s as opposed to his late-30s. If he picked a set style instead of writing whatever genre came to mind. If he had brought in a partner and not been a solo artist.

Dan had tried to recruit people the year before, and no one he chose was interested. He put his work out, and a few people called, but quickly gave up, each for a reason different from the next. Some felt it would never go anywhere, and it seemed to him that they had been right. Only one person was truly interested, but Dan couldn't picture working with him at the time. Someone older than him. More intelligent. Someone who had life already going for them. And they were willing to give it all away to join a band based around dick jokes. The idea seemed crazy to Dan, and he couldn't picture doing the same thing had he been in the other man's position. Dan turned down his offer, unwilling to be the cause of someone else's detriment. And so he remained a lone wolf, whether he wanted to or not.

Dan chipped at the glass of the broken window, then reached his hand through to try to reach the door handle. It was locked from the inside and he knew that had to be his only way of getting in, aside from breaking the whole window and alerting the owner of a nearby shop. If anyone caught him, he would risk fines he couldn't pay, and possibly harsher punishment. His arm caught on the edge of a piece of glass as he grasped the handle, and he pulled away instinctively. It didn't hurt anymore. It hadn't for a while.  _Blood and alcohol and broken dreams_. He saw the blood pool, then drip to the ground in a single tiny splatter. Then he tried again, ignoring the feeling of dirty glass digging into flesh, and opening the door.

It was colder and darker inside than it had been outside, but Dan needed somewhere to stay where no one would try to whisk him away again. Alleyways had become his best friend, but that building felt so much better. Any sort of shelter was better than the alleys that were rough, cigarette ridden, and often littered with puddles of rain and beer. Improvement was improvement, even if it was small.

Dan found a place for himself at the back of the abandoned shop, using his cape as a blanket as he curled up on the floor. The floor was cold and concrete, but he had to try to get some rest if he wanted to find new work the next day. He'd tried almost every bar, comedy club, and any place that would take him, but he never made enough to stay there. His mind raced and he was unable to get any sleep, so instead he set out to find a new job yet again, begging for any scrap of money he could find lying around to get himself a drink while he was out.

* * *

He'd worked there years ago.

A little place called The Moonlight Nightly. The sign danced above him, flashing it's bright and playful colors. Blues and pinks drew him in, calling him back to the single familiar thing he knew. Through the crack in the door, he saw light and heard the bustle of people. Warmth flooded out, pulling him closer. Dan fished in his boots for any bit of change he had saved. He needed his alcohol fix, but all he was able to find was a single dime.

His guitar had been confiscated by the bartender at his previous job, taken as a substitute for actual money, so he had no way to play. He still could sing, however, and hoped his old boss would want him back. Dan made his was to the door, slinking through the shadows and avoiding the crowds of drunkards outside the club. That was his longest lasting job, and the one he had gotten the most out of. And now he was showing up, tattered and worn, begging for another shot. He couldn't picture being taken back, but he hoped at least to bum a drink off of someone. Anything to get him through the night.

As he opened the door, the heat wrapped around him, and his skin crawled as he readjusted. Customers were too tied up in themselves to pay any real notice to Dan, and he stuck close to the walls as he made his way to the bar.

"How much scotch can I get for a dime?"

Dan threw himself onto a stool, leaning his weight against the bar. He stared into the eyes of the bartender, the same man who had been his boss when he did concerts there. The older man glanced toward Dan, not recognizing him, for it had been so long since they'd last seen each other. "None. Get out." He was abrupt and to the point, taking no interest in nor having any sympathy for the man seated before him.

Dan lifted his lips in a silent snarl, but kept himself in his seat, listening to the sound of everyone around him. He wasn't going to leave until someone forced him out. The warmth was a rarity, and he'd take advantage of it for as long as he was able. People around him were conversing and laughing, something he hadn't done in months. Dan heard bits of conversations. He heard the scraping of chairs against the floor, the clicking of shoes as people wandered between tables. He heard the phone ring behind the bar, and heard the bartender pick it up. He heard bugs slamming themselves against the windows, begging to get in to the warm and well lit room, just as he had been.

Then, Dan caught his name. "Sorry, I don't know an Avidan." It was the bartender, still on the phone. Dan perked up, wondering if he should say something. No one he knew would be calling for him, but more shocking was the fact that they had chosen to call there. He hadn't worked there in a long while, so the person calling had to have known him during that time. The most outrageous thing to him was the fact that he'd been there for the call. Fate was either in his favor, or completely against him, depending who was on the other end.

"Sexbang? That incompetent, poor excuse for a songwriter hasn't worked here in forever." Dan listened in on the one-sided conversation. "Try somewhere else. I don't know where he went, but I know he's not here anymore." A long pause lingered in the air as the man listened through the phone, paying little attention to what the person on the other end was saying. "Fine, I'll let you know if I see him."

Dan heard the tell-tale click of the phone being placed back on the wall, and looked up. He wasn't sure what to say. If his old boss didn't recognize him, he didn't want to make a point to say that it was him, especially not in the ragged state he was in. But his curiosity got the best of him. Who could it have been? Who remembered him? It wasn't family, as they never kept in touch. It couldn't be old friends, as they moved on long ago. Past lovers would have no interest in him now. And so he spoke up. "Actually..."

"You're not getting anything to drink if you can't pay, no two ways about it." The man was snappy, glancing at him only briefly before turning away again.

"No, actually... I heard that phone call. I'm the person they were looking for."

There was a silence that surrounded them, an unseen energy of discomfort before the bartender spoke again. "Danny? God... what happened to you?"

Dan caught a glimpse of himself in the window's reflection. "The streets don't treat indie artists well." Dan laughed to himself, masking his sadness with humor. "Who was it?"

"Get yourself cleaned up first. Then we can talk. There's a bathroom over there you can fix yourself up in if you-"

Dan cut him off. "No. A fresh appearance wouldn't last anyway. They called for me. Who was it?"

"They didn't give a name, Danny. I'd tell you if I knew. Go fix up. Maybe I can get you a gig here for the night."

Dan sighed. He hung his head, then stared up at the shelves of liquor. Then to the phone. "Call them back. Hit redial. Whatever it is. You said you'd let them know if I showed up. Well... I showed up!" Dan slammed his fist onto the bar, rattling a glass down the way.

"You don't want a gig, then?" The bartender was trying to play his cards right, trying to manipulate someone at their lowest point. "They don't want you, Danny. If they really cared, they would've left a name, given a reason for calling. Clean yourself up, then we'll talk. Earn me some money and I might give your little pal a call."

* * *

Dan stared in the bathroom mirror. It was small, but it was surprisingly well kept. Dan examined every part of his face before he even picked up the brush and razor his old boss had lent him. His eyes were dull, his face riddled with a scruffy unkempt beard. His hair stuck out in every direction and the curls had become a mess of fluff. His hands were red from hitting the table, and his arms were pale and cold. His costume had suffered some damage as well, sequins coming loose and rips forming at the ankles. "Fuck, Dan." He spoke to himself. "Where'd you go wrong..."

He dragged the brush through his hair before running it under the water provided by the small sink. He splashed water on his face, hoping not only to clean himself up, but to become more awake and alert. He looked at the razor, his mind faltering for a moment, thrown involuntarily back to the past for mere seconds. "Not that again. Not now. That's passed, Dan." He spoke aloud, using his own name, trying to make it feel real again. "Dan... I'm Dan. Dan Avidan. I'll be ok."

He paused, leaning on the sink, looking himself dead in the eyes. "You're playing Danny Sexbang, and you know you're not ok. Stop lying to yourself." He wanted nothing more than to find a place to settle down. He wanted warmth and wealth and comfort. But Dan didn't picture himself getting any of that any time soon. Not unless that call from earlier had been a job offer, and he highly doubted that had been the case.

Dan ran out to the front of the room, leaving himself half cleaned up. Over the bustle of the crowd, he called to the bartender. "How much do I have to do before you'll call them back? I can't stay here forever."

The bartender laughed. "Where else are you gonna go, Sexbang? Home? As if!" Dan had lost his apartment while he had been first working at the Moonlight Nightly. He had stayed working there for a few extra scraps, but even that didn't keep him above water. "I didn't advertise, so they have no clue who they'll be seeing tonight." He gestured to the crowd that was gathered around the stage. "You earn enough, I'll let you keep some. Want that scotch from earlier before you get up there?"

A glass slid toward him, half full of liquor. Dan quickly drank it, the sensation familiar and peaceful, yet a harsh reminder of earlier days that he would've rather not remembered. Dan stumbled as he made his way to the stage, still uncomfortable. He hoped the crowd before him would be more respondent than the past few, but anything counted at that point. He pulled the mic close to his lips, starting to introduce himself. He leaned against the microphone, pulling it close to his body, breathy grunts filling the room. This was who he had to play. He ran his hands through his hair, then spoke.

"I'm Danny Sexbang, and tonight, I'm taking every one of you to headspace that'll drive you  _wild_."

A few audience members cheered, some let out wolf-whistles. He already had half of the room, and he hadn't even started yet. Dan tied his cape, wrapping it around himself and letting it flow behind him. He blew a single kiss to the crowd as he had done so many years before, then began his songs, dancing in a way that only would've convinced the woman who tried to pick him up earlier that her assumptions were correct. The audience was entranced, and people began their own pile of tips, leaving them at the base of the stage. A few ignored the pile, throwing bills directly toward him, the connotations causing him shame. It was as if he'd stumbled upon the holy grail of concert jobs. But he knew it wouldn't last long.

As the stage lights faded after hours of performing, Dan heard applause and laughter, but not as much as he had hoped. About half the seats were filled, and he quickly gathered his earnings. Almost three times as much as his last job. Dan brought his new found money up to the bar, showing them to the boss. Dan looked into his eyes and spoke sharply. "This is enough for one night. You can have it if you have to, but you need to call them back."

No one ever tried to keep in touch with Dan. He couldn't imagine who it had been. The boss reluctantly picked up the phone, then handed it to Dan. He sat listening to the dial tone for a while, growing more worried and more curious about who would be on the other end. No one called him Avidan. But, then again, it seemed that no one called him Sexbang either. Dan's breathing was shallow and anxious as the tone rang a few more times. He jumped when the voice came through.

"You found him?!"

It was a dry and gravelly voice, but he could still hear the emotion behind it. Dan didn't answer right away. Instead, he waited, hoping they would introduce themself before he had to ask.

"Did you find him or not?"

Dan's breathing hitched before he spoke. "This... this is Dan speaking..." Dan didn't recognize the voice, nor the inflection. It wasn't family, and it wasn't anyone he had been close to. Those he would've remembered. This was someone else.

The voice came back, excited, yet dull. "Avidan! I need to find you. I really want another shot. I need to see you. I fucked up."

Dan didn't know how to respond. He didn't even know who he was speaking with. "Who... who are you?"

"What?! What do you mean, who am I?! I told whoever I spoke with last time to give you my name and number. Fucking hell. It's Brian. The guy you turned down as a bandmate?"

Dan went silent. His blood ran cold. That's who he'd seen in his fantasy audience. He hadn't heard any work from Brian in a long while. Brian wanted to join Ninja Sex Party, but Dan had turned him away before he even got a chance to try.

"Danny? Are you still there?"

"Shit, Brian. I told you." Dan snapped. "You have a life. You have money and a solid job and you're a fucking physicist, Brian! You don't need this."

"That's why I'm calling. I quit my job to join the band. I'm in a bad place right now. I messed up, Danny..." Brian's voice trailed off.

"Well, I'm not so hot either. Go find something for yourself. Use your fucking PhD to your advantage."

"Just... Stay at the club. I'll be there in minutes. I was in town and... I have to see you."

Dan heard the phone click off, Brian having hung up on him. Dan didn't understand why, of all people, Brian was calling him. They hadn't spoken for an extended period of time, and Dan had blatantly denied him before. Dan had created his band as a way to take the edge off of life. But Brian already had a great life set for himself. Yet he was more than willing to leave it all behind in a heartbeat, for something that hadn't even worked out.

* * *

The door of the club flew open, and Dan jerked his head towards the sound it made as it hit against the wall. He was still lost in confusion, wondering what Brian wanted with him, when he saw him walk in. Brian was shorter than Dan, and his salt and pepper hair and blue-grey needle eyes were distinctly his own. He called out as he entered the club, unsure of where Dan was seated, though he wasn't all that far from him. "Danny!?"

His voice echoed, and Dan felt the need to respond immediately. "I'm over here." Dan was sharp, upset that Brian had found him, yet pleased to know that at least one person cared a slight bit.

Brian followed the voice, stunned to see Dan in the state he was in. It was apparent that Dan had spent the fifteen minutes it took Brian to arrive drinking.

"Holy crap, Danny.... you look like shit." Brian made his way to Dan, pulling a bar stool close to him and taking a seat. "What happened?"

Dan sighed, not wanting to think about it, but wanting Brian to know the hell he had been through. "I can't do it, Brian. No one gives a fuck. I'm not making enough money, and no one cares." He spoke dryly, having gone though his story over hundreds of times. "This was a stupid dream and nothing more. Go.... go fucking do something with your life and leave me out of it."

Brian paused before responding. "Danny, I..."

"Don't. Don't try to convince me to keep trying." Dan looked up towards the other man, his eyes tired and lost. "I'm in hell, Brian. And I can't keep doing this."

"No, Danny, I'm-"

Dan snapped, not wanting to speak for any longer. "Don't call me Danny. It's just Dan. Danny is done with. Now get the fuck out of here and take advantage of everything you made yourself into. It's much better than what I tried to do."

But Brian persisted. "I quit my job. I left. Everyone I know hates me for it. And now, I'm in the same-"

"You're not in the same fucking spot as me, Brian!" Dan slammed his hands into the wood of the bar, the remaining alcohol in his glass rippling. He bared his teeth, gripping instinctively at his own hands, thinking that it wouldn't be long before bruises and scratches formed. "I have nothing. Not a single god damned thing. And you? You could go anywhere and have anything. You don't need to be coming back to me."

Brian didn't speak. When the bartender had said that Dan hadn't worked there, he assumed he had found something else. Maybe something small, barely enough to pay the bills, but still something. Instead, he returned to a Dan whose world had crumbled before him, who tried to crawl through the rubble as it fell. And now, neither of them had anywhere to go.

Brian put his hand on Dan's back, staying silent. Dan flinched, having not felt any sort of positive human contact in a while. He had forgotten the way it felt, and he was confused as to whether or not he would let Brian stay the way he was. Dan stared down at the bar, stressed out of his mind, almost having given up. He didn't want Brian to come back. He didn't want to have to show his failure to the only person that had really tried. And yet he stayed, waiting for him to show up. He could've left. He could've gone back out into the streets. But he didn't. He stayed, waiting. Waiting for anyone who would show up and give him the smallest idea that there were still people out there that cared.

"Dan..." Brian whispered, his breathing shallow. "I wish I could help, I made offers to..." He paused, standing from the stool. "But you're not letting me. So I wish you the best." He set his hand on Dan's shoulder for a brief and uncomfortable second, then moved it, clenching at his own shirt.

Brian walked slowly, his feet dragging across the floor. He hadn't expected to come back to Dan in such a godawful state. He wanted something. Something to help him get away from his own problems. And he was only coming back to something worse than he could've imagined. And though he wished there was something he could do to help, he saw the light in Dan's eyes fading. He saw how disheveled he had become, and he saw how dependent he was on things that ruined him, things he couldn't afford. Brian wanted better for him, but it looked to them both as if things wouldn't be able to fix themselves, and Dan seemed as though he no longer truly cared.

Dan closed his eyes, then ran his hand through his mess of hair, curls tangled and frizzed. "I hope you do better than I did." As Dan heard the door close, Brian wandering off into the night, he sighed, then spoke to someone who was no longer there. "I hope you don't hit this point." He had turned away the only person who might have cared, but he didn't feel any remorse. That's what stung him the most.

* * *

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Dan woke up. The room around him was dark, the floor under him cold. The wall he leaned against dug into his shoulder blades, and he rubbed his back as he stood. Dan ran his hand forcefully across his face as he tried to remember the night before, where things had gone while he was in his sleep deprived and drunken stupor. He vaguely remembered trying to find somewhere to stay after the bartender had kicked him out and the women he tried for had shot him down, though he didn't think he had gotten very far. The floor was littered with dead insects and broken glass.

Another abandoned shop.

Dan wasn't sure what exactly lead him to this point. He wasn't sure where he went wrong, or if he had ever been right in the first place. Dan glanced at his hands, and blood and scrapes decorated his skin and trailed slightly up his arms.

A fight? Or had he broken the window?

As he tried to rub some of the blood off, his hands burned and stung. Glass shards were embedded in his flesh, letting him know that the slices must've been from breaking in. He didn't worry about trying to fish them out, knowing that they would leave scars either way, adding to the collection he had been making for himself. _At least_ , he thought, _I can feel something still_. Dan looked at the city around him. The skyscrapers erected downtown, the flickering neon signs beside him. _At least I'm still here_.

Dan closed his eyes as he sunk to the ground outside of the shop, watching papers tumble in the wind. He laughed dejectedly, smelling the alcohol on his own breath in the cool air.

He had everything he was used to. Nothing more.

_Just blood and alcohol and broken dreams._

* * *

 


End file.
